On Friday, May 8th, at 6:25 PM, I was backstage at the fairgrounds black box theatre, getting ready to open In the Next Room (or The Vibrator Play.)

I had taken the day off of work, sleeping in until 11:00 AM and having a relaxing day. I had spent the afternoon having my hair dyed, cut, primped and styled by Chava at 2nd Street Hair Boutique.

At 6:25 PM, the lights in the dressing room went out suddenly. It’s an old building, so our first thought was to check the fuse box and see if a breaker had tripped. But we soon realized that we had a bigger problem on our hands.

It wasn’t just that the breaker had tripped–there had been an issue re-wiring a telephone pole on Langley Road that had caused a fire UNDER THE ROAD. Our lighting board operator hopped on his motorcycle to find out what had happened. He reported seeing scorch marks on the road, which was closed.

The cast stood backstage in varying states of undress. Those of us wearing corsets had already started the intricate process of being laced in. 30 minutes, they had told our messenger. 30 minutes, 45 five minutes tops and the power would be restored.

We waited eagerly for updates as the audience started pouring into the darkened theatre. We thought the worst case scenario would be delaying the start of the play by half an hour. We were wrong.

At 7:35 PM, our motorcycled messenger scurried down Langley Road again to see what progress had been made. The crew informed him that it would be until 10:00 PM before the power was restored.

There is a saying in theatre that the show must go on. The cast stood backstage in disbelief as one of our volunteers suggested bringing lanterns into the theatre.

“It’s a play ABOUT ELECTRICITY,” exclaimed one of the actors. “We can’t do it with lanterns.”

Like troops admitting defeat on the battlefield, we slowly took our corsets and other Victorian underthings off in the dimming backstage light. We would have to cancel opening night.

I’ve never had a show cancelled before. I’ve performed to audiences of ten or fewer and had wished the show had been cancelled. We were so ready to share our world of the play with the audience. We felt lost and betrayed by Thomas Edison’s creation, which is arguably a leading character in the play.

Since the power was on in the rest of Langley, most cast members decided to go to Mo’s and drown our sorrows. We took over a corner of the bar, some of us watching the Mariner’s game. And we talked. And we laughed. And we invited our other theatrical friends who we haven’t seen in weeks because we’ve been rehearsing the show.

At its best, theatre creates community and helps us discover more about what it means to be human. As we felt the very human emotions of disappointment and frustration, we were feeling them in tandem with a community of actors. We bonded.

I left the bar a little after midnight, feeling grateful for my theatre geek friends who lift me up, tease me, hug me, make me laugh and keep me sane. These people are why I live on Whidbey Island.

The next night, we opened the show to a nearly sold-out house that couldn’t stop laughing. They gave us a standing ovation. With the illumination of restored electricity came redemption. And we were ready for it!

This piece originally appeared on OutCast Productions’ blog and can be accessed here.

I love the ceremony of theatre. First, you audition. And, if you’re lucky, you get cast. You receive your script and start reading with abandon, start devouring the words. (I use two highlighters, one to highlight my cue lines, and one to highlight my own.)

Next, the first read-through. It’s like the first day of school. Most likely, you know at least a couple people you’re working with, or, if not, you’ve seen them onstage. Jokes and introductions are exchanged, and then you settle into your chairs.

You start to breathe life into the words for the first time. And, for the first time, they are really yours. You own them. They belong to you. You approach the lines, delicately, tentatively at first–then gradually, gaining momentum and then BAM! You are in a swirling vortex of characters and relationships that you will be bringing to life over the next 6-8 weeks.

Coming down from the high of the first read-through, it’s time to get to work.

But, if you’re lucky, it doesn’t feel like work. It’s actually more like a meaningful kind of playing. If you have the right alchemy. Which we have in spades for OutCast Production’s upcoming show, August: Osage County, which opens this Friday at the Island County Fairgrounds.

This has been the first show that I’ve done in over a year, and it’s been such an incredible experience. The play itself won both the Pulitzer and Tony awards for best play in 2008. It is a darkly comedic exploration of how families come together and fall apart (sometimes at the same time.)

What I love most about this production are the people involved. Anastasia brings fresh flowers to rehearsals to brighten up the space. Savannah feeds us with baked goods. Nancy surprised us one night by cooking a green bean casserole. Lars works all day and then puts in a few hours building the set before coming to rehearsal. Everyone cares about this production and puts in a little extra TLC.

Today we started tech week. One of my favorite parts of theatre is the ritual transformation I perform before a show. I set out my color palette I’ve built specifically for my character (this time, a real estate agent from Miami–lots of pinks and golds) and I start to create her from scratch. I use the make up brushes, sponges, bobby pins, hairpieces, etc until I have found her, found my character. I’m still in there, somewhere, but I’m able to see her more clearly–like my character, Karen Weston, says in the play: “Suddenly, you turn around, and there it is.”

We open on Friday, and you can purchase tickets here. This show will sell out by the final weekend. So don’t wait until the last minute!